


I'll Be Yr Bird

by pepperlandgirl4



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 18:43:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8256368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperlandgirl4/pseuds/pepperlandgirl4
Summary: “It’s not just his memory. The brain controls every aspect of your personality. It’s who you are. And Merlin’s is damaged now.” 
Arthur frowned. He didn’t know anything about science and medicine beyond the basic skills of setting bones and stitching wounds, but that didn’t seem right to him. A person’s personhood, their essence, their soul must be much deeper than that.





	

Arthur only saw Merlin once before Gaius bundled him off to Ealdor, stretched out on the table in the old physician’s room. Pale skin stretched tight across gaunt cheeks, thin colorless lips compressed, fingers so still they reminded Arthur of death. Blood had pooled under his eyes, darkening the skin to a swollen, shiny purple. Arthur paced in front of the bed, chewing his thumbnail and waiting for Gaius to stop watching him with shielded eyes and start talking. 

“He’s going to wake up, isn’t he?” 

“Yes, sire, sooner or later.” 

“What will happen to him then?” 

“Arthur…you should probably begin searching for a new manservant.” 

Arthur stopped. “How long will it be before he wakes up? I can live without a manservant for a few days.” 

“When he wakes, he might not be the boy you remember.” 

“What does that mean?” 

Gaius sighed. “It means he may not remember you. Or he may not remember who he is. Or his personality could be drastically altered. The blow he took to the head should have killed him. It’s a miracle it didn’t.” 

Gaius didn’t quite sound like himself. His voice was as even as Arthur had ever heard it, but there was a tremble of fear somewhere under the words. Gaius wasn’t lying to him. If anything, he was sugarcoating the prognosis.

“What are you going to do?” 

“I’m going to take him home so he can recover in peace.” 

“And then?” 

Gaius shook his head. “I don’t know, Arthur. I wish I could tell you that I will bring him back in a month’s time, but head injuries are tricky things.” 

And Merlin might never recover. Arthur’s stomach churned, coating his throat with bile and guilt. Merlin should have never been standing in harm’s way. The branch that had cracked his skull open had had Arthur’s name on it. Arthur remembered the sharp sound, like thunder clapping overhead, and then a more ominous creaking. He looked up and subsequently missed the blur of brown leather and black hair that knocked him to the ground. Arthur’s eyes had connected with Merlin’s for a split second before the heavy piece of wood hit Merlin squarely in the back of the head. Merlin passed out as the blood erupted from his skull, coating his head and Arthur’s hand. 

“If you’ll excuse me, sire, I need to change his bandages.” 

“He’s still bleeding?” Arthur asked, mouth curiously dry. 

“A little. The bleeding is probably nothing to be concerned over.” 

“Not when there’s so many other things to worry about?” Arthur asked. 

Gaius only nodded. 

The next morning, Gaius carefully tucked Merlin into the back of a small wagon. Arthur had ordered Kay accompany him, and he had also ordered that the wagon be filled with food and supplies. He shouldn’t have accompanied Merlin himself. Because it was his duty and his obligation, not only as Merlin’s master and prince, but as the man who was responsible for his injury. But a nobleman from Mercia was secretly visiting the court, and since his very presence in Camelot was a capital offense in Bayard’s book, Arthur knew better than to even talk to Uther about Merlin’s head trauma. 

Gaius returned three days later, looking gray and shapeless, like all of the details had been smudged away. He reported to the king immediately for an audience and Arthur couldn’t stop staring at his face, all wrinkled and bloodless. What had happened in Ealdor? Merlin hadn’t expired on the journey, had he? Surely somebody would have _told_ him? Or Gaius would at least mention it in passing. Uther might not care about the life of Arthur’s former manservant, but Arthur cared. Arthur cared so much it hurt, and he wished he could see right through Gaius’s white hair and skull to read his thoughts. 

Merlin apparently wasn’t dead. But he was conscious. Arthur didn’t really hear anything after that. Merlin was _awake_ , and yes he was in Ealdor, quite a distance from where he should be at Arthur’s side. But surely this was just the first step that would lead to Merlin’s return. Arthur decided not to hire a personal manservant, relying on the castle staff to keep his room clean and fetch his meals. He dressed himself every morning and thought about all the ways he should insult Merlin. At night, when he prepared himself for bed, he pretended Merlin was there, chattering away like a bird, keeping him company even when he didn’t want it. 

About a week after Gaius’s return, Gawain caught a quarterstaff squarely in the face, turning his nose into a fountain of blood. The young man who helped Gaius reset the bone was not Merlin. There was no hint of Merlin anywhere in the physician’s quarters, and Merlin’s small room was now being occupied by another apprentice. 

“I thought you said he was awake,” Arthur said. 

“He is, sire. I received a letter from Hunith yesterday and Merlin’s condition has stabilized.” 

“Then why do you have a new apprentice? If he’s stable, why doesn’t Merlin just come back to Camelot?” 

“Arthur…” Gaius took him by the elbow and guided him to the corner of the room. The new boy, Alan, was busy washing the blood off Gawain’s face, politely laughing as Kay told increasingly lewd jokes about the power of his hard wood. “Merlin isn’t going to return to Camelot. I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but unfortunately, it is the truth.” 

“But he’s got to come back.” Arthur never sounded that petulant before. Not even as a child. How could Merlin leave him? 

“He’s not going to. I know it’s difficult. I miss him more than I can say.” 

“Maybe we can help him remember. This is home now. It might be good for him to see familiar things.” And people. It might be good for him to see Arthur. It would definitely be good for Arthur to see him. 

“It’s not just his memory. The brain controls every aspect of your personality. It’s who you are. And Merlin’s is damaged now.” 

Arthur frowned. He didn’t know anything about science and medicine beyond the basic skills of setting bones and stitching wounds, but that didn’t seem right to him. A person’s personhood, their essence, their _soul_ must be much deeper than that. A blow to the head couldn’t be enough to change Merlin into a different boy, even if he couldn’t remember things like names and places. Gaius might have genuinely believed that Merlin was gone forever, and thus willing to move on with life as usual, but he might have been wrong. 

“I’m going to Ealdor.” 

“Sire, I must advice against it.” 

“I don’t care.” 

“You’re just going to confuse him. Maybe even frighten him. He’s…he’s like a child now.” 

“Children can be taught. Just because he doesn’t remember me doesn’t mean that he should never see me again.” He wasn’t going to give up on his friend. If their positions were reversed, Merlin wouldn’t give up on him. Arthur knew that for a fact. 

“You must promise me you won’t do anything to upset him.” 

“Of course I wouldn’t,” Arthur said, affronted. He hadn’t said anything about upsetting Merlin. He had no desire to upset him. He was going to _help_. 

“I have medicine for him. I planned to travel to Ealdor at the end of the week.” 

“I’ll take it," Arthur said as he crossed to the door. 

“Where are you going?” 

“To tell my father,” Arthur said over his shoulder before closing the door behind him. 

Arthur didn’t exactly tell Uther about Merlin. He said he was going on an overnight patrol to the Mercian border, and he escaped from Camelot while the sun was still high overhead. Despite the cover story, he elected to leave all his knights in Camelot. He wanted to be alone. He didn’t understand how Merlin could be completely different just because of a blow to the head. He knew men who had taken too many hits to the helmet and had been addled and easily confused afterward, but their basic personalities had never changed. Lamorak was still _Lamorak_ after the Dragon nearly knocked his head off, even if he talked a bit slower now and took more time to go through his daily drills. 

He weighed his horse down with gifts for Hunith and medicine from Gaius. He snagged treats from the kitchen for Merlin, carefully wrapping them in bits of cloth and storing them in his saddlebags. He imagined sharing them with Merlin on Hunith’s floor, pretending to ignore the fact that Merlin swiped extra pieces with his long fingers when he thought Arthur wasn’t looking. Then Arthur would snap at him to stop being such a pig, and Merlin would tell him he needed to stay in shape because the Crown Prince of Camelot couldn’t a porker. Then Arthur would shove another cake in Merlin’s mouth to shut him up and because he was really rather skinny and they’d just be _normal_. 

Arthur couldn’t see anything wrong with that plan. It was so plainly obvious that he couldn’t believe it never occurred to Gaius. Why had he insisted on moving Merlin out of Camelot so quickly? Why didn’t he even give Arthur the chance to help? Gaius wasn’t the only one who cared for the boy. 

He reached the small village before nightfall, attracting attention as soon as he arrived. Children too small to work in the fields stopped their playing to watch his horse, and their mothers were framed in doorways with small smiles of greeting and recognition. He nodded at them as they passed, his excitement mounting with each step, though dampened by Gaius’s repeated warnings. _Merlin’s not the same. Merlin is different._ There was one thing Gaius didn’t say, but Arthur could still hear the meaning, could still hear the subtext of _Merlin is gone_. 

Arthur dismounted and turned around to see Hunith’s concerned but welcoming countenance. She stepped forward and held her arm out, and though Arthur couldn’t remember the last time somebody had invited him to hug—since the prince wasn’t known for being particularly cuddly—he still stepped into the embrace. She hugged him like a mother. Like he had seen her hugging Merlin once. Arthur wrapped one arm around her, lumbering and awkward all of a sudden. 

“I wondered if I would have the chance to see you again, Arthur Pendragon.” 

“I brought gifts. And medicine.” 

Hunith released him, stepping back with a smile. “Then I shall help you unpack.” 

“Where’s Merlin?” 

“He’s…he’s helping me with dinner. But we need to talk before you see him.” 

“Gaius already told me. Merlin doesn’t remember anything.” 

Hunith shook her head, biting her bottom lip as her composure threatened to crack. Arthur’s heart seized. This was worse than Gaius’s grim determination that they continue on with their normal lives as though nothing had changed. Hunith was one of the strongest women Arthur knew, and seeing the slip of her mouth, the tears welling in her eyes, was as bad as seeing Morgana frightened. 

“There’s more, Arthur.” 

“How different could he be? I mean, he’s still Merlin, right?” 

“He’s still my son.” 

“I think I should see him.” 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” 

Frustration bubbled beneath his chest, and he didn’t care if it was a _good idea_ or not. He pushed his horse hard all day so he could reach Ealdor before nightfall, all because he was so desperate to see Merlin again he could taste it. He wasn’t going to get this far and then just stop. 

“I don’t care.” 

Hunith sighed. “I’ll take you to him. But remember, Arthur, he really is different now. Don’t get frustrated with him if he can’t remember you. Don’t raise your voice or move too quickly. He’s easily startled but his reaction time has slowed, and that makes him lash out more. You have to be careful with him or somebody could get hurt.” 

Merlin couldn’t hurt anybody when he was operating at full capacity, but Arthur bit back the automatic retort. If these were the rules he had to agree to in order to see Merlin, then he would follow them happily. “Introduce myself, be polite, and don’t startle him. I think I can handle that.” 

Arthur secured his horse and then followed Hunith around to the small fenced in plot behind her home. Merlin sat with his back against one of the fence posts, his head down, his attention locked on the ground. Maybe he was watching a bug or something Arthur couldn’t see. Beside him was a short knife and a pile of potatoes, most of them half-peeled and abandoned, like Merlin kept getting distracted from his task. Even from a distance, Arthur could see the frown between his eyebrows and the way he gnawed his lip with concentration. 

Hunith approached quietly, Arthur mimicking her, his heart beating painfully against his ribs. _There will be a few differences. Remember that. He’s not going to be the same. But it’s going to be all right. He’s still Merlin._ Arthur repeated the reassuring words, clinging to them, wishing he had heard them from Hunith or Gaius. 

“Merlin?” Hunith’s voice was pitched carefully. “You have a visitor.” 

Merlin jerked, like he’d been asleep, and looked up at Arthur with the clear, vacant eyes. There was no hint of excitement at seeing Arthur, no sign of recognition, no echo of the nerves that were fluttering through Arthur at an alarming rate. 

“Hello,” he said politely. 

“Hello. Do you mind if I sit here?” 

Merlin looked to Hunith, and Arthur waited uncomfortably while she shook her head. “No, I don’t mind.” 

Arthur carefully lowered himself to the ground, wishing he’d removed some of the armor first. “I’m Arthur.” 

“I’m Merlin.” He _almost_ sounded the same. If Arthur tried hard, he could trick himself into believing that he sounded exactly the same. “Where are you from?” 

“Camelot.” 

Merlin looked at him blankly, politely. 

“It’s a very large castle about a day’s ride from here.” 

“Oh.” 

Merlin picked up one of the half-naked potatoes and his knife. A glance reassured Arthur that the blade wasn’t sharp enough to do any real damage to Merlin. The boy’s face screwed up with concentration again and then he was carefully, _slowly_ , shaving a strip of the skin away. Arthur had spent hours of life studying Merlin’s hands, equally amazed when they were clumsy and graceful, rebellious and competent. He’d learned to trust Merlin’s hands over the previous two years. He knew them as intimately as those fingers knew Arthur’s body from dressing him, tending to him, bathing him. Now he watched with perplexed horror as Merlin suffered through the easiest of tasks. 

After removing three narrow strips, he set the potato and knife down again. “What’s your name?” 

“Arthur.” 

“I don’t know you. Why are you here?” 

“Gaius sent me.” 

Merlin looked to Hunith again, his gaze automatically darting to her face. “He’s your physician. Remember? He taught you how to tie the laces of your pants.” 

Merlin nodded thoughtfully. “So I can take my cock out when I have to piss.” 

Arthur’s eyes widened. Merlin had always been lacking in manners, but he’d never been quite that…uncouth. “He asked me to bring medicine for you. I also have sweetmeats.” 

“I don’t want any medicine.” 

“You don’t have to have it right now,” Hunith assured him, which seemed to be enough for Merlin. Arthur grappled for something to say. He had plenty to say on the long ride to Ealdor, but none of what he planned applied now. He couldn’t talk about Camelot if Merlin didn’t even know what Camelot was. He couldn’t talk about Uther, or how they were still searching for Morgana, or how Gwen had turned into a shadow of her former self, reduced by the loss of her friends. How could he say any of these things when Merlin’s face was a blank as a child’s? 

“I’m going to be just inside. If you need anything, shout for me.” 

Arthur wanted to shout at her right then not to leave him with this stranger. But he was the one who insisted that he _had_ to see Merlin, so he couldn’t have a tantrum about it now. 

“You’re very beautiful,” Merlin said, once Hunith was gone. 

“Um, thank you.” 

“Do you want to mate?” 

Arthur blinked. “Excuse me?” 

“You know, mate.” He gestured at the chickens pecking through the yard. “Melwas mates with his hens every day. Mum explained it to me.” 

“Oh. Well, you and me don’t do that. We’re just friends.” 

“Oh. Okay.” 

“I mean, maybe if things were different.” 

“What things?” Merlin asked, blue eyes guileless. 

“Everything. So…how do you like Ealdor? It seems like a nice place.” 

“It smells like shit, and I hate it. But Mum says I can’t leave. She said there’d be nobody to take care of me.” 

“Do you need somebody to take care of you?” 

“Mum says I do.” 

He picked up the twice-abandoned potato and rolled it against his palm. The other potatoes were already discolored, turning a coppery red. Arthur wondered just how long Merlin had been at this particular task. All afternoon? It was a strange thing, but he never remembered Merlin eating peeled potatoes before. He never peeled any of his vegetables when he was lucky enough to get them fresh. He knew far more about Merlin’s eating habits than he ought to. 

“Do you want me to help with that?” 

“I don’t have an extra knife.” 

“I’ve got one.” 

Merlin carefully redistributed the potatoes so there were two even piles. It took four attempts to divide the six vegetables into two groups. Merlin would get it right, then eye the one in his hand and apparently realize they really had _seven_ potatoes, and he’d have to move one to make a group of four. Then his eyebrows would come together and he’d count them out again. Arthur watched this happen twice before he reached out and took Merlin’s hand. Merlin immediately tensed, his muscles quivering, his eyes wide. It was almost like catching a cat by the scruff of the neck. 

“You have it right,” Arthur said gently. “Three for each of us.” 

Merlin released his breath and nodded. Arthur studied Merlin for an extra moment, but he couldn’t read Merlin’s expression. It was like staring at a stranger, and the features that had once been an open book were closed off to him. He would give anything for a flash of recognition, or a second of normalcy. But it wasn’t going to happen, and Arthur forced himself to pry his fingers from Merlin’s arm. 

They worked in a silence that wasn’t comfortable. Arthur could feel Merlin watching him while he skinned the first layer off the potato. He finished his first one quickly and held it up for Merlin to inspect. “What do you think?” 

“You’re good with a knife.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Did you come here to kill me?” 

“No. Why would you think that?” 

“Mum told me that strangers are dangerous. That some of that might want to kill me, but she didn’t tell me why.” 

“Did she say who?” 

Merlin’s gaze traveled over Arthur slowly before he answered. “The king’s men.” 

“Well, you have nothing to worry about here. You’re perfectly safe.” 

Merlin smiled at him, and Arthur’s insides tied into so many knots he didn’t think he would ever be untangled. He couldn’t leave Merlin alone. He couldn’t just ride off and _leave_ his best friend, but he was becoming uncomfortably aware that Gaius was correct. Was Merlin really, completely gone? What about his heart? What about his soul? What about the part of him that Arthur had fallen a little in love with? Was that gone, too? 

They finished the potatoes before Hunith emerged again, Arthur taking care of all six while Merlin focused very hard on finishing the one in his hand. He felt a sharp pang of guilt every time he remembered mocking Merlin. It’d been so easy to call Merlin stupid and slow, to tease him for his obvious mental affliction, to yell at him when he’d been cross and he needed _some_ outlet for his frustration. Now Arthur couldn’t even apologize for that. 

Merlin gathered the skinned potatoes up in his shirt and shuffled into the hut without a word. Arthur was slower to his feet, feeling unsteady as the blood rushed from his head. He grasped the fence, leaning on it while everything inside of him tried to settle once again. But nothing settled. Everything felt completely wrong. His armor fit wrong, and his heart beat wrong, and his stomach hurt. He was going home alone. And when he got there, Morgana would not greet him in the courtyard. Gaius would not be there with a wide, pleased smile. Uther wouldn’t care and Gwen wouldn’t even be in the castle. 

A gentle hand on his shoulder pulled Arthur from his thoughts. “I’m so sorry.” 

“I thought…I thought if I saw him and spoke to him…” 

“I know.” 

“He’s like this every day?” 

“This is one of his better days. He gets disoriented and confused. It’s so hard to see him like this. And taking care of him feels like a job for a much younger woman.” 

“Come with me to Camelot. You can live in the in the castle, and you’ll have your own coterie of servants. I’ll scour Albion, and beyond Albion, for a cure. We can have doctors from as far away as Rome.” 

Hunith’s eyes widened as Arthur spoke and she shook her head firmly. The words died on his lips and he stared at her with undisguised anger. “Why not? Living here in this mudhole isn’t better for him. Gaius should have never taken him from Camelot. In fact, he was acting against my express orders and he’s lucky if I don’t have him thrown in the dungeons.” 

“It’s too dangerous.” 

“It is far from dangerous.” 

“Arthur, I appreciate what you want to do for my son, but I’m his mother. Can’t you trust that I know what’s best for him?” 

“No.” 

She sucked her breath in sharply and Arthur stared back, refusing to be ashamed. _He_ knew what was best for Merlin. If he could be trusted to run an entire kingdom some day, he could take care of Merlin of all people. Why Hunith couldn’t trust that, Arthur didn’t understand. 

“Do you care for my son, Arthur?” 

“Of course.” 

“Then you must never tell anybody what I’m about to show you.” 

Arthur nodded, but her grip tightened on his shoulder. “You must _swear_ to me, Arthur. On your mother’s grave.” 

Arthur stiffened and nearly shoved her away, but his more nobler self took over. “I swear on my mother’s grave.” 

Hunith guided him to the door and gently pushed him forward when he hesitated at the threshold. Merlin was sitting in front of the fire, his back to Arthur, his hand moving in random patterns. Arthur was so perplexed by the shapes his fingers were making that at first he didn’t notice the fire. It was only when Hunith nudged him that Arthur saw the flames had taken shape. There were seven dragons on the hearth, and above them, made entirely of sparks and smoke was the Pendragon crest. While Arthur watched, each of the seven dragons bowed to the crest. 

Then Merlin waved his hand and it all disappeared. 

#

Arthur prepared to leave at dawn, the bundle of sweetmeats he brought untouched on Hunith’s splintery table. He moved slowly, every gestured weighed down by a dozen conflicting emotions. He dressed outside, hoping not to disturb Merlin or Hunith’s sleep, but he didn’t make his escape. Merlin emerged from the shadows of the hut, blinking into the fresh morning light, his hair standing on end and his collarbones sticking out over his shift. He smiled when he caught sight of Arthur, and Arthur swallowed something—it might have been a sob or a shout. 

“You’re leaving?” 

“I need to get home.” 

Merlin nodded and walked by him, fingers outstretched to trace the dragon crest on Arthur’s saddlebags. “Thank you for bringing the medicine.” 

“I’m going to come back.” 

Merlin looked pleased by that. He stepped away from the saddle and moved quickly, wrapping his arms around Arthur in a hug. For the second time in since his arrival, he found himself caught up in an unexpected embrace. After a moment, he put an arm around Merlin and skimmed his mouth over his soft, shaggy hair. 

A hot spark of hope flared in his chest when Merlin stepped back and looked at him, but it fizzled out quickly as he realized there was still no sense of recognition in his eyes. 

“You’re the one I sometimes still see,” Merlin whispered. 

Arthur reacted without thinking, crushing Merlin to his chest, clinging to his familiar warmth. Merlin didn’t seem to mind, so Arthur stood like that for a long time. He still didn’t know what he was going to do, but he was not going to leave Merlin in Ealdor for the rest of his life. As soon as it was safe for him in Camelot, Arthur would fetch him. 

“I’ll be back,” Arthur repeated before releasing him. 

“I’ll be here.” 

Merlin followed his horse to the edge of the village, walking a few feet behind him like he planned to follow all the way to Camelot. Arthur’s spine was stiff, his fingers clenching the reins a little too tight. If Merlin did try to follow him, Arthur didn’t know what he was going to do about it. It would kill him to return Merlin to Hunith. It would kill Merlin if he let him leave the relatively safe borders of Cenred’s kingdom. 

Merlin stopped at the very edge of the village. Arthur turned in his saddle to check more than once, but Merlin was an unmoving silhouette against the rising sun. When Arthur couldn’t see him anymore, everything that had been aching for release spilled out of him. He held his breath and dismounted, unsheathed his sword, then screamed and attacked the nearest tree. Chips of bark flew around him as he shouted curses at the fallen branch, at Gaius, at himself, at Uther. Helplessness rolled through him, feeding the rage coursing in his veins even after he thought he should be spent.


End file.
